


Full of the Obvious

by lilgirlost (lil_grl_lost)



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Case Fic, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Private Investigators, Romance, Secret Relationship, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_grl_lost/pseuds/lilgirlost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>P.I.s Clint Barton and Phil Coulson are used to dealing with cheating spouses and running the occasional background check, so when Tony Stark comes looking for their help, neither man are sure what to make of his request. Tony Stark's request is simple... he needs to find out who in his company has been stealing and later selling his now-defunct weapons on the black market.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full of the Obvious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sharpiesgal (TigerLily)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerLily/gifts).



> Oh... where to start. This story has been one of Herculean labor, so I hope that I have managed to give sharpiesgirl everything she asked for and she enjoys it.
> 
> I'd also like to thank my two Adriennes for their hand holding and their beta work. Without them, I don't see this story having been finished in time. Which means, that all remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Cheers!

“Phil, turn off the sun.”

Although the words were muffled by the pillow covering Clint’s face, Phil had no trouble understanding what his partner was saying. After all, the remark was becoming almost routine for Clint, especially when he was being forced out of bed before 10. Which tended to happened roughly five days a week (and sporadically on Saturday).

“You know I can’t do that,” Phil replied evenly, casting a quick glance behind his shoulder. He couldn’t help but enjoy the view that Clint provided him. Due to the way he was sprawled, their purple sheets had pooled around Clint’s hips, leaving very little to Phil’s imagination, especially when he knew that Clint was naked under those sheets save for ratty pair of boxers.

With a roll of his eyes, Clint pulled the pillow away from his face and said, “Then come back to bed.”

“That’s not happening either,” Phil replied. “We have a client meeting at 8:30…so get up.”

“Who decided that one?”

“The client,” Phil told him while pulling his work attire from the closet—a white oxford shirt and a black pair of trousers—and hanging them on a small hook attached to the closet door.

Both items had been expertly pressed by their neighborhood dry cleaner. It had only taken one ruined shirt for Phil to recognize that leaving his clothing anywhere near Clint would end in disaster. One of his favorite white oxfords told that sad tell, an imprint of an iron across the left breast.

“Bastard,” Clint grumbled, though the still sleepy look in his eyes told Phil there was no heat behind his words, which was why he had no problem with doing what he did next.

“Think that, if it helps you get out of bed,” Phil said evenly and then gave a hard yank on the sheets and blankets, effectively ripping them Clint’s half-clothed body, leaving them on the bedroom floor as he passed on his way to the kitchen.

“Not cool, Phil!” As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, Clint waited to see if Phil would respond before yelling again, “I see how it is, you don’t love me anymore.”

Phil gave a small hum as he reentered, holding a coffee mug for each of them. After handing over Clint’s, Phil took a small sip of his own before setting it on the dresser and tugging his faded Army Ranger shirt over his head. “Love has nothing to do with it,” Phil replied. “Laziness doesn’t pay the rent.”

“Slave driver,” Clint grumbled into the rim of his mug, inhaling the coffee’s potent aroma.

“I aim to please.”

Clint drained the last of his coffee and then asked, “Who’s our client?”

“Not sure, the whole conversation was surreal.”

Setting his empty mug aside, Clint’s eyes flashed with curiosity at Phil’s statement. “What makes you say that?”

“He begins by telling me that Nick Fury of SHIELD recommended us for a job, then I hear him calling someone a dummy and threatening to sell them to City College, and right before hanging up he rattles off a date and time.”

“Weirdo.”

Phil gave a half-hearted hum as he pulled on a white dress shirt and buttoned it, smoothing down the almost pristine cotton before tucking it into his black dress trousers.

“Aw, Phil,” Clint whined with pleading eyes, giving Phil his best kicked puppy look.” Why did you have to go and do that?”

“You aren’t endearing yourself to me.”

“Luckily for me, I don’t have to try to _endear_ myself to you. It comes naturally,” Clint quipped as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at his partner.

Phil shot him a brief withering glance before watching as Clint’s dog entered the bedroom and jumped on the bed, spreading out to take as much of the _available_ (unavailable) space as possible. “Clint, get him off the bed.”

“But just look at him,” Clint wheedled, “how can you resist a face like that?”

“Very easily,” Phil remarked dryly, without glancing at the scruffy mutt Clint had rescued off the street.

Clint had been coming home late one night and happened to stumble upon a Russian goon having a _little fun_ with stray. So without a thought of how it could have ended very badly for him, Clint had jumped in and started brawling with the goon. After the dust had cleared, Clint found himself with a black eye, a fat lip, a couple of bruised ribs, and a stray in urgent need of a medical attention. Luckily the dog had managed to pull thru, losing only his left eye and having to spend the next few weeks with his left leg in a cast.

To say that Phil (after returning home from a private investigators conference three days later) had been surprised by the new addition to their home would have been an understatement; yet, one look from Clint caused Phil to simply shake his head and ask Clint if the dog had been given all his shots.

Leaning over, Clint put his face close to Lucky’s face and said, “Don’t listen to him, boy. He’s just jealous that I love you more than him.”

“Yes, very jealous,” Phil retorted with an eye roll while fixing his tie in the mirror above the dresser drawers. “I still don’t see you getting dress, Clint.”

Clint made a face over Phil’s shoulder in the mirror and laid back down, curling under the covers as Lucky slowly inched further up the blankets, drawing ever closer to Phil’s unguarded pillow. With an annoyed sigh, Phil glared at his partner and the dog, all the while secretly wishing that his mother hadn’t instilled in him the value of responsibility; otherwise, Phil would have definitely stolen his pillow back and crawled into bed with them.

Unfortunately, they had bills to pay, which meant their office had to open and ready to accept clients well before noon, even if Clint had tried to list all the reasons why marketing themselves as the only private investigation agency opened during the late night hours was an excellent idea. He had been outvoted two to one with their associate’s vote breaking the tie, which was funny because Kate’s vote only seemed to count when Phil disagreed with one of Clint’s _brilliant_ ideas.

“Clinton Francis Barton, out of bed or I’ll let Kate have Lucky!”

Throwing the blankets off, Clint rolled over and threw his legs over the side, stretching languidly before getting to his feet. “You wouldn’t do that, Phil,” he replied around a yawn. “You love Lucky as much as I do.”

Phil gave a noncommittal hum as he combed his hair, though a small smirk flashed across his face when he was certain Clint wasn’t looking. Once satisfied with his appearance, Phil turned, opening the closet door and pulling a black suit jacket from its hanger, laying it across his bended arm, and then left Clint to finish dressing.

“Don’t worry, boy,” Clint murmured while scratching Lucky’s ears. “Phil loves you.” So with a last pat on the dog’s head, Clint walked to the dresser and grabbed a pair of jeans and a clean-looking Henley shirt.

There was no doubt in Clint’s mind concerning Phil’s preference to suit and tie; but after one too many ruined suits because Clint had a tendency to get into brawls no matter where he went, Phil had conceded and allowed Clint to wear anything he wanted, as long as his jeans and shirts were clean and hole free.

After tossing the clothes on the bed, Clint shot Lucky a look of reproach, clearly telling the dog to stay away from his clothes, and then disappeared in the bathroom for a quick shower, leaving the door partly ajar in case Lucky came looking for him. Exiting a few minutes later, Clint pulled on his clothes and then gave a gentle pat against his thigh, signaling to Lucky to follow him out of the bedroom.

When the pair entered the kitchen, Clint found Phil just beginning to plate their breakfast of eggs and bacon. “Clint, could you get the toast,” Phil asked without looking away from his task. “And no bacon for Lucky,” he warned, sensing Clint’s intention to snatch a few pieces to feed his dog.

Clint frowned and then winked at Lucky, who was waiting patiently at his feet. As much as Phil tried to stop him, Clint always managed to sneak Lucky a little human food now and again. “Yes, sir.”

“Could you get the forks?” Phil asked as he slid the plates into their proper place on the breakfast bar. “Oh and the ketchup.”

“Bleh,” Clint murmured, though he did as asked, even if the thought of putting ketchup on eggs turned his stomach, which was a little humorous when put into the context of foods Clint normally enjoyed—pizza that resembled an upended garbage disposal.

At hearing the small sound, Phil turned and looked at Clint, pointing his finger at his husband, letting the other man know his response wasn’t welcomed or needed. Clint just grinned at Phil as he took his seat at the breakfast bar, immediately tucking into his food without waiting for Phil to join him.

***

“Tony Stark,” Clint hissed as he glanced between his husband and the genius/billionaire/playboy sprawled across the chair in front of them.

Kate Bishop, their secretary (associate—her words, not theirs), had been jumpy when Clint and Phil had arrived at the office; but considering who had been waiting for them, Clint definitely understood why. Anthony “Tony” Stark had been the foremost weapons dealer for the government before he decided to turn his focus to green sustainable energy, which the basis for originated from his father’s arc reactor technology.

“What can we do for you Mr. Stark?” Phil asked without missing a beat, thus effectively ignoring his husband’s question. “Your initial call wasn’t exactly the most forthcoming on why you are in need of our services.”

“Oh, I like you,” Stark stated as he rose to his feet. “Fury said you weren’t one to beat around the bush, which is exactly what I need.”

“How so?” Clint asked, breaking into the conversation and making his presence known.

“I’ve been having a little trouble with my weapons,” Tony told them, “mainly keeping them in my warehouses.”

Phil tilted his head, silently regarding the genius for a minute and then asked, “I was under the impression that Stark Industries was no longer in the weapons business.”

“I’m not; but until I can destroy my remaining inventory, I’ve been storing it in a few of the lesser known Stark affiliated warehouses.”

“And a couple pieces have decided to grow legs and walk off, I take it,” Clint theorized, earning a small nod of affirmation from Stark.

“What are we talking about here?” Phil asked, ever the one for wanting the whole picture, no matter how irrelevant it seemed at the time.

Stark sighed deeply. “Missiles, rifles, machine guns, etc. etc. If it was military grade, we made it. Howard didn’t discriminate when it came to weapons; only the best for our service men and women.”

“Not a big fan of the military, Mr. Stark?” Clint questioned pointedly, not liking the not so subtle distain in Stark’s voice. As a former member of the armed forces, Clint tended to have issues with people, who didn’t support the men and women who gave their lives for their freedom. It was one thing to hate senseless wars; it was an entirely different matter to have an open distain for service personnel doing their jobs.

“I have all the love in the world for people in uniforms, I just not a fan of how Stark technology is being used in the battlefield.”

“Hence why you’ve switched to green energy. Helping mankind by ensuring that the world continues to turn for a few more millennium,” Phil finished.

“Nailed it,” Stark replied. “Fury was right; you’re one sharp investigator.”

Phil shot Stark a dry look. “So we can assume that you’re requesting our assistance in locating your missing weapons and possibly the person responsible for it.”

“Got it in one, Phil. Can I call you Phil?”

“If you want to,” Phil told him, “Mr. Stark.”

“Please, call me Tony. Mr. Stark was my father and I’m nothing like my father. Howard was a…”

“Bastard,” Clint supplied helpfully.

“I was going to go with son of a bitch,” Tony replied, “but that works too.”

Clint shrugged, lips twisted in a weary grin. “I’ve meet the type.”

“Dear old dad the same way, huh?” Stark asked, a little curious at knowing whether or not Clint was a kindred spirit when it came to being a product of A+ parenting. Neither his personal assistant Pepper Potts nor his best friend James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes understood the number Howard and Maria Stark had done Tony.

“Something like that,” Clint said shortly before turning his head away, choosing to look out the window instead of directly at Tony.

Papa Barton, hell the whole Barton clan, was one topic that Clint very rarely talked about and if he did then it was only because he needed to, which usually happened after a harrowing nightmare forced the sleep from his eyes. Those were the nights that Clint hated the most. Not because he was scared of Phil seeing him weak, but because he really wished the past would just stay in the past and stop haunting him.

“Okay…” Tony drawled after a beat, realizing that Clint wasn’t going to engage him where that line of questioning was concerned. “Fury said that you’re the best P.I.s in the business when it comes to sting operations.”

“And is that what you want from us, Mr. Stark?” Phil asked, causing Tony to glare at him for using his last name.

With an eye roll, Tony said, “Duh. That’s why I’m here. I mean if I wanted up in your face kind of tactics, I would have stuck with Fury. I’m not saying that he and his people haven’t done amazing work for Stark Industries; I just don’t want the perpetrator to figure out, who my inside man is.”

“Because they have worked security at some of your more _flamboyant_ parties,” Phil stated simply, saving Tony the trouble of having to explain himself further.

Phil might have told a little white lie to Clint concerning his awareness of who their potential client. The former Army Ranger hadn’t initially known; but within a couple of hours, he had managed to work out the Who. As for why he hadn’t told Clint, the truth was simple… Clint didn’t really care all that much for the rich types. And you couldn’t get any richer than Tony Stark these days.  

“Exactly,” Tony said with a click of his tongue. “So will you take the job?”

Phil’s gaze swept quickly from Tony’s face to Clint, who had turned sharply at the question and was now staring at Phil with almost the exactly same expression on his face as Tony Stark.

While they each held equal partnership in this business, Clint put his absolute trust in Phil to know whether a client was the right fit for them. After all, it was like Clint always joked…he’s always seen better at a distance, because if the opposite had held true he would have seen his brother’s betrayal coming. So Clint tended to follow Phil’s lead, knowing that his husband wouldn’t let anything intentionally bad happen.

“Yes,” Phil replied, though as he spoke, he never once directly addressed Tony; instead he kept Clint in his eye line, waiting patiently for any sign that Clint wasn’t fully on board with his decision. Phil had made a promise to Clint that he would never force Clint to do anything that he didn’t want to. And after twelve years as friends, partners, and now husbands, Phil had by some miracle been able to keep his promise.

Tony clapped his hands, effectively bringing both men’s attention back onto himself. “Good. Now what do you need from me?”

“Access to those you think are behind it,” Clint stated while looking Tony square in the eye.

“That’s the thing, Mr. Barton” Tony started, “I have no idea who is behind this. If I did, then I wouldn’t be here.”

“Clint. You can call me Clint… Actually, I’d prefer it.”

With a small grin, Tony nodded and said, “Alright, Clint. I’ve gone over the logistics of this with Pepper and Happy and we’ve—“

“Pepper Potts and Happy Hogan,” Phil interjected, proving that he had done his homework when it came the people in Stark’s life. “Your personal assistant and your driver turned head of security.”

“Yes, them,” Tony confirmed, barely holding back the eye roll. “As I was saying, we’ve decided that the best course would be to plant the inside man in security that way, he will have access to all parts of Stark Industries without raising suspicion.”

“If you have such trust in your head of security, why not just have this Happy Hogan find your black market arms dealer?” Clint asked.

“Because Happy’s about as subtle as an elephant in a china shop,” Tony replied, earning a small chuckle from Clint.

“I don’t believe that’s the expression you’re actually looking for,” Phil remarked dryly which seemed to turn Clint’s chuckle into a full grown laughing fit.

Once the blonde was calm enough to speak again, he asked, “When can we start?”

“The sooner the better,” Tony replied. “I’ll have Happy ready a couple of IDs for you. So how’s Monday work for you?”

“Monday’s good. But Sunday night is even better. I like to get the lay of the land before I start,” Clint explained.

Tony nodded. “Makes sense, I guess. I’ll be sure to have Pepper make up a reason why the building will be closed Sunday night.”

“Is Stark Industries usually opened on the weekend?” Phil asked. His brain was already working on possible theories as to how this person or persons had been able to get hold of the weapon cache’s location.

“Usually, but only if you have the authorization to get through the door,” Tony told them. “Scientists are the worst kind of work-alcoholics, this is me speaking from experience, so my employees only have access to areas they are assigned to.”

“Could someone have hacked the system?”

“No. Howard didn’t trust a lot of people, which probably had everything to do with his WWII days, so the warehouse’s location can only be found by looking in the archives,” Tony revealed, ending his statement with a shrug of his shoulders.

Phil gave a small hum before asking, “How many people have access to the archives?”

“Not sure,” Tony replied. “I told Pepper that she should have taken this meeting,” he went on to mutter. “I make the pretty and oh so relevant gadgets; it’s her job to answer these kinds of questions.”

“Alright, Mr. Stark,” Phil announced. “Clint will _interview_ with your head of security on Wednesday and be ready to work on Monday.”

“Why aren’t you coming with him?”

“Phil handles the logistics of our operations, so he sticks to shadows and runs point for me,” Clint explained. “Besides, I’m awesome at undercover work.”

“Only you think that, Barton,” Kate scoffed while slinking into the office to double check whether any of them needed anything. Not that she was likely to get them anything, even if they did need or want something. She just wasn’t that kind of person and Phil (not Clint) had managed to accept that, which was maybe why she tended to get Phil coffee.

“Thanks, Miss Bishop,” Clint replied mockingly. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably have fallen into a ditch by now,” she quipped lightly and with a Cheshire grin plastered across her face.

Yet instead of playing her game, Clint looked at Tony, who was clearly amused by the exchange, and said, “We’ll pay you to take her. How much you want for her?”

“Sorry, buddy. She’s all yours, though I like the spunk. She reminds me of an assistant, who works for an astrophysicist in R&D.”

“You employ astrophysicists?” Clint asked, before uttering a quick, “never mind, of course you do.”

Tony smirked and looked ready to give a good retort, though the arrival of his assistant, Pepper Potts, stopped him.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Stark, but the board of directors meeting starts in 20 minutes and Mr. Stane does hate it when you’re late,” the young looking redhead said formerly, making sure to use her personal assistant tone instead of the Tony-why-must-you-be-a-child tone she usually employed when dealing with her boss.

“Thanks, Pep,” he said with a smile, and then he turned to Phil and Clint, giving them a small bow of the head before sticking his hands in his pockets and whistling on his way out of their office.

Once he was certain that Tony Stark was gone, Clint glanced at Phil and asked, “Did that just happen?”

“Looks like it,” Phil drawled, meeting Clint’s look with one of his own… one eyebrow cocked in mild fascination. It was one thing to read the media’s portrayal of Tony Stark; it was another thing to actually meet the man in person.

Poking her head in, Kate asked, “New client? Need any surveillance done, boss?”

“Yes and no,” Phil said while giving Kate a pointed look, clearly telling her without uttering a word that the answer to her unvoiced question was ‘no’. There was no way that Phil (or Clint) were letting her put a toenail near this case because Phil knew that this investigation was going to be their most dangerous to date.  

When Kate Bishop was hired, her job was to run the occasional errand and organize client files, not to act as an associate investigator…even if she tended to claim otherwise.

It had all started a few months after she began working for them. After a long day of running down leads for their open cases, Kate had stated quite bluntly that she wanted in on the action—cheating spouses, background checks, stolen property… anything really, she wasn’t overly picky. And while Clint allowed her to help on some of the more mundane investigations, Phil had a problem with allowing her to become involved, mainly because he didn’t want the guilt if something terrible happened to her. He had enough guilt from his Army days to deal with, so he definitely didn’t need (or want) the added weight of a life that he had some control over, even if it never seemed to matter to Clint. Yet the grim expression on Clint’s face told Phil that his partner was in full support of his decision… this time at least.

“You both suck,” Kate exclaimed loudly for she knew she had lost the argument before it had even begun, especially if Clint was siding with Phil. Turning on her heel, she flounced out of their office, slamming the door behind her. Although even with the door closed, both men could still hear her anger as her desk drawers banged shut and coffee mugs clanked sharply against table tops.

“Do you think—“

“No. We aren’t getting her a puppy, Clint,” Phil interrupted harshly, not needing to wait to hear the rest of the question. It was the same question every time they managed to piss Kate off. “If you want to give her a puppy, then you are welcome to give her Lucky.”

Clint’s eyes widen in shock at hearing Phil’s suggestion, even though it wasn’t new. Every time they had this discussion, Phil always offered Clint the opportunity to part with Lucky, yet he never meant it. As much as he grumbled about Clint’s strange attachment to the mutt, Phil loved Lucky just as much as Clint did and couldn’t bear to part with him anymore than his partner could.

“But, Phil…” Clint said, voice trailing off as he tried to give Phil his best kicked-puppy expression, which had nothing to do with the empty threat of giving Lucky way and everything to do with nixing his idea of getting Kate a puppy as an apologetic gesture.

“We aren’t her parents; it’s not our job to make her feel better,” Phil pointed out, barely holding in his sigh. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache forming and it wasn’t even noon, which didn’t bode well for rest of his day. Sometimes it sucked having to be adult in this business, especially when working with barely-not teenager and a partner, who most times had the mentality of small child.

“We’re kind of like her parents,” Clint replied. “You make all the rules and I help her break them.”

Clenching the bridge of his nose, in a vain attempt of staving off the headache, Phil closed his eyes and muttered, “Remind me why I marry you again?”

While Phil’s eyes were closed, Clint crossed to his partner and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling the slightly older man close and with a smug smile on his face said, “Because I have a great ass and I’m awesome between the sheets.”

“Those are only two of your assets that I fell in love with,” Phil replied fondly as he opened he eyes to look into Clint’s. “You forgot your heart, your mind, and definitely your looks.”

“I see how it is,” Clint retorted before lowering one hand and slapping Phil on his ass, causing the older man to shoot him a brief scowl, though it quickly gave way to a wolfish leer that left Clint wondering why he hadn’t tried harder to lure Phil back into bed.

“If you two are getting kinky in there, I’m going home for the day!” Kate yelled through the door. “I’m not going to allow my young ears to be subjected to hearing two old men have kinky old gay men sex. So not happening. This wasn’t in my job description.”

“One, we’re not old and two, a lot of things aren’t in your job description, yet you do them anyway,” Clint yelled back while Phil merely rolled his eyes and continued to enjoy being held in Clint’s loose embrace.

What followed could only be described as an Amazonian warrior call and the sound of a door being slammed with a lot more force than necessary.

“Do you think if we text her, she’ll bring us back coffee?” Clint asked hopefully.

“Not if you value your life.”

“Good point,” Clint said as he released Phil, allowing the other man to take a step back and turn, so he could return to his desk and the stack of files waiting for him. They still had other cases to close and a couple of leads to chase down if Clint was going to be ready for his _new job_ come Monday morning.

***

“Aaron Cross?”

Rolling his eyes at Phil’s idea of a joke, Clint rose and followed Stark’s head of security into his office. While the office wasn’t much to look at, it still managed to tell Clint a lot about the man, who inhabited it. For example, the pair of boxing gloves on the coat stand told Clint that Happy was a boxer; a “What is a weekend?” mug marked him as a fan of Downton Abbey—right along with Phil, even if he tended to claim otherwise in spite of the evidence found on their digital recorder; and the lack of pictures on his desk and the halls meant that he either had very few family or friends or was very selective about the ones he wished the rest of the world to know about. The sparseness of photos reminded him of Phil, who only kept one photo on his desk… their wedding day.

“Please,” Happy began while motioning to an empty seat before his desk. “Have a seat, Mr. Cross.”

“Call me, Aaron,” Clint replied, turning on the charm by giving Happy an easy-going smile, which the other man returned quickly.

However, the smile just as quickly vanished as soon as Happy closed his office door. “Now that’s out of the way, Mr. Barton, is there anything that you need from me?”

Clint chuckled and said, “Mr. Hogan, I just need your honest opinion on the employees here. I mean, does anyone stick out in your mind as acting shady?”

“Besides, Mr. Stane,” Happy replied quickly. “None come to mind. The scientists are a skittish sort and usually keep to themselves while the rest of the staff seem to be only guilty of stealing pens and forgetting to wear their ID badges in plain view. And please call me, Happy.”

“Happy, then. Why Stane?”

“I couldn’t really tell you. It’s more of a gut reaction to him,” Happy explained. For as long as Happy had worked for Tony, Mr. Stane had acted like an overly familiar uncle to his boss, though most of the times his actions toward Tony never seemed to be all that loving to Happy. But Happy had known his place, so he kept his mouth shut, and trusted Tony when it came to dealing with Obadiah Stane.

Nodding his head slightly, Clint leaned back in his chair with a look of regard. While his response wasn’t exactly an iron-clad reason to not trust Stane, Clint knew that sometimes you just had to go with your gut feeling; his hadn’t steered him wrong yet. So mentally, he filed the information away for revisiting later, if needed.

Though his silent contemplation was interrupted by Happy reaching across the desk and poking Clint in the bicep. “People usually don’t have these kinds of arms in real life. You’re like a living, breathing James Bond.”

“I prefer to think of myself as Jason Bourne,” Clint quipped, his lips then twisting into a smirk.

Happy chuckled and rolled his eyes, thinking that Clint’s remark sounded every bit like something that Tony would say. “Which branch?”

“Marines… sniper,” Clint replied. “I see better at a distance,” he added by way of explanation, which earned him a small nod of understanding from Happy.

After that, their conversation lagged into silence; either man was much for talking, so a few minutes passed before Happy finally spoke again.

“If that’s all, Clint, I guess I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning…”

“Sounds good to me, Happy,” Clint replied as he stood from his seat. Holding out his hand, Clint waited until Happy had clasped it before saying, “It was great meeting you and I’ll see you Monday.”

After rounding the desk, Happy opened his office door and ushered Clint out into the hallway. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Cross,” Happy said, making sure to use Clint’s alias while speaking it a little bit louder than entirely necessary. It would seem to Clint that Tony Stark hadn’t been so far off the mark about subtlety and his head of security.

With a final handshake, Clint turned on his heel and left. He couldn’t wait to get out of the black suit that Phil had managed trick him into this morning. Although, Clint hadn’t been completely blind to the effect that seeing him dressed to the nines had had on Phil. So with a spring in his step, Clint made his way down the hall, all the while barely holding back a whistle as he thought about his plan of revenge.

***

“472. 519. 16.”

“What?” Phil asked, pushing away the stack of files in front of him before leaning back in his chair.

“Tiles on the ceiling, on the floor, and the number of cameras in the R&D corridor,” Clint answered, failing at holding back the boredom in his voice.

“Bored?”

At hearing Phil’s question, Clint let out a pained whimper and bowed his head, allowing it to thunk not-so-gently against the brick wall he was facing. After a week at Stark Industries, Clint started to long for the calm silence that tended to occur while one was waiting in the car outside some seedy motel for a cheating spouse to appear. Which was why Clint had taken to slipping out of the building and finding a good, quiet place to have a _smoke_ , not that he actually ever smoked while outside.

And while the _smoke_ break gave Clint the silence he craved, it also allowed him time to think about everything, everyone, and every action committed within his eye line. Originally, he thought that this would be simple open and shut case… that the guilty party who be the most bumbling thief in the history of thieves. Unfortunately that sentiment didn’t appear to be the case. A week later and Clint still wasn’t any closer to finding out who was stealing Stark’s weapons. Although that didn’t mean that he didn’t have a growing list of suspects and at the moment, one scientist in particular, one Doctor Bruce Banner, was at the top of his list.

Clint couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something off about the physicist. From what Clint could tell, the physicist appeared to be a loner and Stark seemed to be only person he didn’t seem to try and avoid. Although Stark’s astrophysicist, Jane Foster, did try to get to know him by inviting him out to lunch. Her reason seemed to be because, if the water cooler gossips were to be believed, she and Banner shared a mutual friend in Erik Selvig, who was currently working for a think tank in New Mexico.

Now it wasn’t so much the man’s loner personality that made Clint suspect something not quite above board about the scientist; it was the way he moved and spoke. Phil probably would have called him mild-mannered and would have left it at that. Yet Clint could see that underneath the timid and unassuming personality, Banner was definitely hiding something. If anyone watched him long enough (and Clint had definitely been doing that), they would see the paranoia he was trying to hide. Whenever Clint had tried to make conversation with the physicist, Banner’s eyes would shift too much for Clint’s liking or he would stumble while speaking. For Clint, it all seemed to add up to the man was keeping a secret and a very big one at that.

“You’ll be home in a couple hours, unless you’re working the night shift again…” Phil stated, breaking the silence that had fallen over the phone connection. As he spoke, Phil made sure that his tone rose a little at the end to indict that he was asking a question rather than stating a mere fact.

“I’m off at nine, but I have a quick stop to make, so I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Clint explained apologetically. The longing in Phil’s voice mirrored his own and as much as he hated the separation, Clint had to give it to Happy for his bout of genius.

With his regular employees, Happy provided them with a traditional work schedule, ensuring that his employees worked the same shift every day. Yet for Clint, Happy had given his a flex schedule, which meant that Clint could possibly be working the morning shift one day and the graveyard the next. The lack of rhyme or reason meant that Clint had more opportunities to meet and interact with Stark’s staff regardless of when their _shift_ began.

“Be careful,” Phil reminded him firmly. Clint had a bad habit of not looking out for himself, so while he knew rationally that he shouldn’t be worried (Clint could take care of himself after all) Phil did worry about his husband, especially when he couldn’t watch Clint’s back.

“I always am,” Clint told him, smirking a little as he spoke the words. “I’ll be home tonight,” he added before hanging up. Usually he would have waited for Phil to say goodbye, but Banner had chosen that moment to stumble into view. Clint knew an opportunity when he saw one, so he decided to take it.

After stubbing out his unused cigarette, Clint causally tossed it in the bin on his way pass Bruce, who was hunched down and speaking low into his phone. As he passed, Clint made sure to slow and pause, crouching down to _tie_ his shoe, so he could hear Banner’s conversation better and even though he couldn’t hear the whole conversation, Clint did hear the tell end of Banner’s argument.

“Tonight, okay. Tonight,” Bruce replied forcibly before punching the face of his phone violently, effectively ending the call.

From his crouched position, Clint could see the redness in Banner’s cheek and the voluntarily clenching and unclenching of his free hand; the physicist was clearly at end of his rope, so Clint decided to see if he could strike up a conversation with him.

Once Banner had tucked his phone away, Clint stood and with an easy smile on his face asked, “Everything okay, buddy?”

“Fine, fine,” Bruce mumbled distractedly, his mind a million miles away. “Mr…”

“Aaron Cross,” Clint supplied. “I’m one of the new security guards.”

“Oh. Nice to meet you,” Bruce replied while reaching up and pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Was there something you needed?”

“Your conversation sounded kind of tense, just checking to make sure you’re okay…” Clint told him, voice trailing off before he quickly added, “I’m a great listener.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cross, but I’m really not in the mood to talk.” And with that, Bruce turned on his heel and walked away, putting as much distance between him and Clint as quick as he could, and all while casting fleeting glances over his shoulder.

Once Clint was sure that Bruce was gone, he pulled his phone out and hit redial, and then waited patiently for his husband to pick up on his end. “Hey Phil, I’ve got some bad news…”

***

“Clint, where are you?”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Solidarity,” Phil replied, quirking a small smile at his lame joke. “Seriously, where are you?” He asked again, his voice once again returning to a normal volume.

“I’m outside an apartment building in Brooklyn,” Clint explained, pausing a beat to smile serenely (closer to creepily) at an older lady, who had stopped to give him a less than friendly look.

“I seem to recall telling you not to follow Banner.”

Clint shrugged and said, “And I seem recall not listening.”

“Obviously,” Phil replied dryly, not bothering to hold back his eye roll. Not like it mattered, Clint couldn’t see him and even if he had, his husband would have just smiled and winked before walking away.

“Besides stating the obvious, is there a reason for your call?”

Shaking his head, Phil sighed deeply through the phone connection. “Just wanted to hear your voice and make sure you were going to make it home tonight.” Clint’s lips twisted into a lovesick (read: dopy) grin at hearing Phil’s statement.

“I haven’t let you down yet, Phil,” Clint replied. “I’ll be home tonight, probably only a couple more hours here.”

“Stay safe.”

“Always,” Clint vowed before ending the connection, because if he had stayed a minute longer, Phil would have worked out that he wasn’t doing his surveillance from inside the car, but on the street in plain view of the building and its residents.

After looking both ways, Clint crossed the street and made his way down the alleyway. Phil would have called him an idiot for what he was about to do, but Clint knew he had a job to do, even if it meant putting himself in harm’s way. Rolling onto the balls of his feet, Clint jumped up, grabbing the lower rung of the fire escape ladder, and then swung his legs out as he hoisted himself up and onto the fire escape.

As he made his way up, Clint paused to check inside each window, looking for any sign of the physicist. It was only after reaching the fifth flight of stairs that Clint finally caught sight of Banner. Crouching down, Clint peered through the open curtain, watching as Banner wandered through the apartment, turning on lights while slowly peeling his work clothes from his body.

‘Not too bad looking for a scientist,’ Clint thought once Banner had thrown his button down over the back of the couch. Where Phil was more lean muscle, Banner had a solidness about him that Clint wouldn’t have expected to see, especially from a man who seemed to spend endless hours with his head buried in a lab.

What happened next was a twist that Clint wouldn’t have seem coming in his wildest dreams… a half-naked Stark stumbling sleepily out of the bedroom. Ducking his head down further, Clint gazed into the living room, unable to take his eyes off the scene as it unfolded before him.

“How long have you been a sleep?” Bruce asked as he caught Tony around the waist and brought him close, running his fingers through the billionaire’s sleep-messed hair.

“A few hours,” Tony replied around a yawn. “Pepper threw me out at two.”

“Smart woman,” Bruce murmured before placing a chaste kiss on Tony’s lips. Although Tony wasn’t having any of it, he had gone far too long—in his opinion—without having his lover in his arms. So it was one problem he tended to rectify immediately, regardless of whether Bruce cooperated or not.

Tony smirked. “Well, I did hire her.”

“So you say,” Bruce teased fondly. Leaning in, he deepened the kiss that Tony had started before their talking had gotten in the way. Tony wasn’t the only one who hated the separation, but it had been his decision, so he had no one to blame but himself.

When their relationship had begun almost a year ago—following a very long friendship—Tony had made the choice to hide their relationship, not because he was worried about the media or even his company’s stocks; but because he was worried about Bruce’s career. And even though Bruce had pointed out that he could care less about that, Tony had held firm with his decision. Which was why now a year later, Bruce and Tony were still sneaking around in a one-bedroom flat in the middle of Cobble Hill.

Without letting go of Bruce, Tony slowly moved backwards, leading Bruce in the direction of their bedroom.

Through it all, Clint watched, unable to take his eyes away from their movements. Normally Clint would’ve turned away, but there was a love and passion in their eyes… the same look that Clint received every time Phil turned his gaze on him.

“Clint!”

At hearing the sound of his voice, Clint turned away from the window and looked down, frowning as soon as he caught sight of his husband looking up at him. “You tracked me!” Clint accused, though he made sure to keep his voice low. He didn’t want to explain to Stark why he was outside of his secret apartment on the fire escape.

Phil rolled his eyes, giving Clint his best are-you-really-surprised look, as he tapped his foot, clearly waiting for Clint to join him on the ground. After returning his husband’s eye roll with one of his own, Clint swung down from the fire escape with a precision only found in a trained acrobat. “Seriously Phil,” Clint began, “don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you. It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

“That’s so sweet,” Clint mocked, causing Phil to reach out and tap him lightly on the back of his head before he ran his fingers through Clint’s sandy blonde locks. Leaning forward, Clint turned and rested his forehead against Phil’s temple, enjoying the other man’s warmth. “It’s not Banner,” he stated simply and without prompting.

“How did you arrive at that conclusion?”

Wangling his eyebrows at Phil, Clint gave a filthy leer and said, “Because Stark and Banner were just getting hot and heavy when you arrived.”

“Stark and Banner… Really?” Phil repeated, voice full of shock at what he was hearing. All the gossip rags told of the genius’s endless womanizing exploits, so to find out that he had a male lover was came completely out of left field.

“Yep,” Clint agreed. “Pretty wild huh?”

“Very.”

“So what do you want to do?” Clint asked while rocking back and forth on his heels. As long as Phil had known Clint, his husband had never been able to keep still unless he was working surveillance and even then his body might’ve be still, but his mouth was still moving.

“Take a closer look at Stane,” Phil replied after he released his loose hold on Clint’s hair. “Kate’s been elbow deep in research and she’s uncovered a few things.”

“Guilty things?”

Phil gave a small hum. “Appears that way.” Clint gave Phil his best puppy dog expression and earned a kiss on the forehead for his troubles. “Come on. Let’s go home. Lucky’s been staring at the door waiting for you.”

“Aww,” Clint murmured. “I knew there was reason I loved that mutt.”

With a final kiss to Clint’s forehead, Phil gently pushed him away and then pointed in the direction of where Clint had parked his car. “I’ll see you at home in a few,” he told his partner. The short fifteen minute drive home to Cobble Hill from Bed-Stuy had been the only reason that Phil had decided to track Clint’s location. Otherwise, he would had left Clint to get himself out of the trouble of his own making and all while hoping for the best.

***

“Tony?”

“Pep?” Tony countered, sounding every bit as defeated as he felt. In spite of his genius IQ, Tony was having a hard time wrapping his head around the information that his private investigators had just given him. It was Obadiah Stane, his father’s best friend and business partner. How could he have betrayed the company…Tony like that?

“Mr. Stark?” Phil prompted this time, in hopes of gaining Tony’s full attention again. The billionaire had fallen silent, staring off into space, after Phil had gently yet efficiently laid out all the information they had managed to uncover.

According to Kate’s hacking (read: a friend’s hacking, which Phil knew about but chose to ignore), Obadiah Stane had been selling Stark weapons on the black market a lot longer than Tony even realized. Yet, his dealings had come to light only after Stark Industries’ switch to green energy.

The irony of the situation was that while Stane was more than willing to get his hands dirty when it came to handling the sale of the weapons, the man couldn’t be bothered to find out the location on his own. And the lackey he had hired to do his dirty work was more than happy to tell Clint the whole sordid tale over a couple of pints of beer.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Tony asked; although his question was redundant considering that Stane had been lead out of Stark Industries in cuffs not an hour before. So as the federal agents swarmed through the building collecting evidence, Tony had retreated in his office to hear the tale of Stane’s betrayal.

In silence, Bruce had been watching as Tony slowly fell apart. Reaching over, he gripped his lover’s hand, lending the other man as much support as he thought Tony would take. Like Bruce’s own childhood, Tony rarely had a loving (or positive) influence, so when it came to giving or taking affection, Tony sometimes shied away.

Tony returned Bruce’s squeeze as he looked back at Phil. “I’m afraid so, Mr. Stark,” Phil replied. “Mr. Stane has been illegally selling your weapons on the black market for the last decade at least.”

“The digital records are kind of spotty before 2002,” Kate interjected, though a quick glance from Clint silenced her. Now wasn’t the time for her to prove her worth to Phil and Clint; this meeting was about their client and not her.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Tony!” Pepper exclaimed aghast at seeing her boss and friend upset. She was used to dealing with Tony when he was being maniac or drunk; but rarely had she seen him this angry… angry to the point where he was throwing furniture around—well tipping his chair over violently, but the sentiment was still valid.

Bruce shot Pepper a look while righting Tony’s chair before he grabbed his lover and made him sit back down. Once seated, Tony dropped his head into his hands and began to mumble what seemed to be same phrase over and over again… some variation of ‘he was like a father to me.’

Keeping one hand on Tony’s shoulder, Bruce turned his attention back to Pepper. “Miss Potts, could you go and check on Mr. Hogan and the agents.”

Pepper saw the request for what it was… Bruce’s need to comfort his lover without an audience. So with a quick nod, she straightened her shoulders and looked Phil directly in the eye as she spoke, “Lady and gentlemen, I’d like to thank you for all your hard work.”

“It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Stark,” Phil replied, addressing Tony although his eyes never strayed from Pepper’s. “Our bill is in the mail.”

Pepper nodded again before leading them out of the office, and as it was as she closed the door that Pepper caught sight of Bruce on his knees in front of Tony, arms wrapped tight around the billionaire, whose head was now buried in Bruce’s neck.

Once in the main foray, Pepper left them to see themselves out while she went to assist Happy with the federal agents.

“Do you think they’ll be okay, boss?”

“”They’ll be fine, Kate,” Phil replied as he opened the outer door and then waited for Kate and Clint to pass thru. “You did a good job, Kate.”

“Thanks,” she said, happy to hear that Phil was proud of her work. “Does this mean that I can start helping on cases?”

Rolling his eyes, Phil opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. “Just as soon as you take and pass your written exam,” Phil said, referring to the New York State licensing exam for private investigators.

“Aww, boss,” Kate whined with a barely concealed grin.

“Enough of this,” Clint ordered once he was buckled in. “Someone needs to feed me and now.”

Phil chuckled as he started the car and then pulled out of the parking lot, heading the direction of their office. Just because this case was closed, didn’t mean there weren’t others waiting for them. And if Clint was lucky, Phil might just feed him lunch.


End file.
